Stained Hands
by Rei2
Summary: A short story. Zidane & Co. is captured by the narcissitic Kuja, but Kuja wants more than the Gulug Stone. AU/shounen-ai/incest - pairing: ZidaneXKuja.
1. Chapter One

_Mmkay. Short (short) story dedicated to two very lovely characters: Zidane and Kuja. Now. Here's your warning. Shounen-ai! (That's boy x boy pairings - nothing too graphic.) Not only shounen-ai, but there's also...incest! For those of you that support ZxK, then you will like this. ^_^ (I hope...) There's angst too, by the way. Now, if you read this, freak out, and e-mail/IM/review that "ew, gross, incests/gays are icky and should be wiped off the face of the earth," I will laugh at you. Because this is your warning: read at your own risk. If you don't like yaoi or incest, then DON'T READ IT. *clears throat* If you complain, then I will laugh, reply to you, and laugh some more. Because you are an idiot. Now, if you flame me because I called you an idiot in advance, we can work that out. ^_^;; Also. This is my first shounen-ai fic, so don't be too harsh if you're a yaoi-addict and want nothing but the best. Sorry, you likely won't find that here. At any rate, here's the story. But remember: I warned you. Enjoy. ^_^!_  
  
  
  


Stained Hands  
Chapter One

  
  
"Ung..."  
  
The golden-haired boy wakes from a provoked, troubled sleep. As soon as his eyes crack open and focus on his surroundings, unrecognized, his startling-blue eyes snap completely open with alarm. His body tenses against the cold, textured wall, lithe hands fly to the twin holsters at his hips. The daggers jump out of their sheaths and to his hands so quickly, one might believe it only the work of super-real forces.  
  
There is no one there.  
  
Zidane Tribal is alone in a circular dungeon cell, decorated in intricate designs of almost mocking perfection and symmetry.  
  
_Okay, what's the story here?_ he thinks to himself as he relaxes a bit. The last thing he remembers was...sand. Lots of sand.  
  
"Ah, so you've finally awoken, little thief?"  
  
Zidane's body jumps to its feet, daggers ready to fight. He knows that voice.  
  
"Silly boy, I won't hurt you."  
  
"...Where are you?" Zidane replies with an almost easy-going air of puzzlement, as if talking in casual conversation to a friend.  
  
"Where I can see you," comes the reply, over a loudspeaker system of sorts, Zidane decides. The voice was light and wispy. Feminine, in most respects.  
  
"Well, come out so I can see you too, will ya?" The mysterious voice's words, and tone, specifically, creeped Zidane out. He can't fight an enemy he can't see.  
  
"Is that your wish? ...Very well."  
  
_Uh oh. Now you've gone and done it,_ Zidane scolds himself. He glances around the small room. Not nearly big enough for a good, comfortable fight, but he can deal. There is, however, no visible door. _Hmm. A slight inconvenience._  
  
This problem is soon remedied when an invisible panel in the wall slides open, revealing a hallway decorated in much the same way as his current establishment, only much more pleasing to look at.  
  
Lifting a skeptical eyebrow, the boy quietly and cautiously creeps forward to the door, eyes darting around the empty room, daggers at the ready. An escape route has just opened itself up to him. Why waste the chance?  
  
As he gets closer to the door, he can more clearly see the fire-lit hallway - lit only from the opposite end. Along the right side is a sturdy-looking, metal banister. The area around the door is completely dark, consumed by shadows.  
  
Swallowing, Zidane carefully sticks his head out the door, looking from side to - a figure. Zidane frowns. The form stands in the shadows to the right, about fifteen feet away, and appears taller than Zidane. And then it moves.  
  
The most striking features, outlined by the background light, are definitely the hips. Secondary would be the mane of shining, silver, feathered hair. Zidane doesn't move. He stares. Then recognizes. _**Shit.**_  
  
Only when the figure moves forward a step did Zidane snap back to reality and leap stealthily backwards, daggers on the rise.  
  
The figure steps into the full light, completely illuminated.  
  
"Kuja," Zidane growls, frowning.  
  
The man smiles. "Pleased to see you too, Zidane."  
  
The boy's voice becomes demanding in this new face of danger. "Where am I and you'd **better** not try any funny stuff, 'cause you know I'll beat your little-"  
  
"Calm yourself, dear boy."  
  
"..."  
  
Kuja smiles again and begins walking into the room. Zidane cautiously backs up, not wanting to be any closer to the dangerous man than needed.  
  
"I will repeat myself," Kuja says. "I will not hurt you. I won't even hurt your friends or-"  
  
"You have the others locked up too!?" Zidane yells out, interrupting Kuja, midsentence. He discontinues backing up, standing straight up against Kuja.  
  
The older man sighs a little, mildly rolling his eyes, as if wondering how Zidane could question his efficiency. He, too, comes to a stop and clasps his hands behind his back. In a patient voice, he explains to his prisoner, "Yes, Zidane, I have your comrades in my custody. They are unhurt, being well cared for, and currently resting."  
  
"Hah! I'll bet you killed 'em all! You murderer!"  
  
Kuja sighs heavier this time. "Yes, I am a murderer."  
  
"..."  
  
"But, I haven't killed your friends."  
  
"...Good," Zidane grumbles, seeing that Kuja is rather irritated at the present moment and probably shouldn't be provoked any further.  
  
"Now," Kuja says, bringing his hands back around and clasping them in front of him, "I have a question to ask of you." He begins to walk towards Zidane again.  
  
"That is...?" Zidane resumes backing up.  
  
A small smile drifts over Kuja's painted lips; he is amused by Zidane's over-cautious behavior. "Why do you insist on marring my plans?"  
  
Zidane bumps into the far wall, eyes darting about for an exit, a way to escape. The door. It's gone. "Uhh..."  
  
"Come now, I know you have my answer." Kuja corners Zidane close against the wall, cutting off the option of beginning a chase on foot. "Must I force it out of you?" Kuja leans close to the other boy's face, unnerving him even more. "You know I can..." His voice has taken a unique purring quality to it as he looks into Zidane's blue orbs.  
  
"Yea- no! No, no, that's okay, I can think fine...by my...self..." Zidane just can't seem to tear his eyes away from Kuja's identical pair. They were just so...  
  
"Frightening, aren't I?" Kuja asks, completing the unfinished thought in Zidane's mind.  
  
"...Yeah..."  
  
"Put your knives away..." Kuja instructs softly, his mouth so close, Zidane begins to feel thrills jumping up his spine. He even considers leaning forward to complete contact. He shivers and closes his eyes with a slight flinch of anticipated pain as Kuja's voice drifts into his ear, just as his daggers drift back to their holsters.  
  
"Now," Kuja says slowly, "why are you involving yourself?"  
  
Zidane swallows and doesn't offer an answer. He presses his eyes tighter shut, afraid of an attack for not answering, or a promise of the ill fates of Dagger, Vivi, and the others.  
  
The breath slowly entering and exiting through his opened mouth suddenly stops with a sudden gasp. The action was accompanied by his eyes snapping open to see the faraway wall at the opposite side of the room, its image crossed with silver, stray strands of Kuja's hair. As the villain's wet tongue touches his earlobe again, the image of the wall blurred in and out.  
  
Kuja's voice came to be heard in the most teasing of snails' paces. "Did you enjoy that?"  
  
Zidane lets out a hot breath; his legs feel weak and he still can't think. This is **not** good. He shakes his head as best he can.  
  
Kuja says nothing as his cool hand gently rests on the opposite side of Zidane's face. His lips begin to caress the skin near Zidane's ear, then, finally, they go back to the earlobe.  
  
_Fight this!_ Zidane's logic screams at him. But Zidane can't even feel his feet benieth him, much less can he fight.  
  
He soon would reach the point, however, at which he couldn't even want to fight.  
  
Kuja's mouth moves away slowly after a final, loving lick.  
  
"Do you..." Zidane's choked voice manages to issue words between swallowing, "do this...for all your...'guests'?"  
  
Kuja smiles. "Only for you," the older man whispers as his warm mouth presses onto Zidane's.  
  
Zidane can only answer with a startled, soft grunt. He can't help but kiss back; the taste and feel of Kuja's lips overwhelm him and, to Zidane's surprise, seduce wants and needs he never knew an individual could have.  
  
When Kuja pulls his mouth away, Zidane subconsciously leans forward after him, not wanting it to stop. He lets his eyes open to slits when he meets nothing. Zidane looks into the angel's deep, ocean-blue eyes. He swallows back saliva - Kuja's saliva. He wants more. Zidane sighs Kuja's name, a plea of continuance. His logic and common sense are gone, his past, present, future; even the future of the planet seems distant and easily forgettable.  
  
Kuja is enjoying this more than he could have hoped he would. And Zidane seems to be feeling the same way. How splendid. However, he offers no reward to Zidane's cry.  
  
Zidane tips his head up and pressed his mouth back onto Kuja's, surprising the both of them in the advance. Kuja mirthfully complies, his left hand sneaking to the back of Zidane's head, pressing him closer and forcing the kiss to continue, disregarding any possibility of Zidane disagreeing. As the lip-lock deepens, heavy breathing begins.  
  
When finally Kuja releases his hold, he has a new destination in mind. "Come with me," he whispers to Zidane as he kisses the blonde boy's face. Zidane nods sharply, his eyes still closed.  
  
The next thing Zidane knows, he is pushed, almost violently, onto a soft, circular bed decorated with a red-feather comforter and small, round, luxurious pillows. The narcissist climbs atop Zidane, strattling him, and begins kissing heatedly again, not waiting for a go-ahead.  
  
Only after Kuja takes the liberty of pulling the white shirt free of Zidane's pants do Zidane's hands finally respond by gliding over Kuja's already exposed skin, exploring places where he'd never even dreamed of going or touching.  
  
  
Zidane knows what he wants now.  
And it sure as hell isn't Dagger. 


	2. Chapter Two

_So, you guys liked the first part, ne? Hope so, I kinda like it. ^_^ Thanks for all the reviews and pleas for continuence. So, here it is. XD There will be no more after this short one; the end is near. Awwww...sowwy. But, sooner or later, maybe I'll write (and maybe even finish *gasp*) another shounen-ai fanfic. ^_^ Speaking of which, there IS shounen-ai and there IS incest, so don't read if you don't want it. And you should already know that if you'd read the first chapter. And if you haven't, go read it. -.-;  
  
And for those that have read/will read _New-Born Evil_...I'm at a stand-still on that, but I don't plan on dropping it. So, you're just going to have to wait. ^_^; Anyway, enjoy the second and last chapter! XD_  
  
  
  


Stained Hands  
Chapter Two

  
  
Zidane awakens the next day with a minor, ignorable headache. Before even opening his eyes, he shivers, blissful memories flowing to the back of his eyelids - a dizzying blur of Kuja's milky skin, flowing hair, and deep eyes, all so delightfully real and up-close.  
  
Something's wrong though. He cracks his eyes open, frowns, and tilts his head up to look at his surroundings: very familiar and definitely not good.  
  
He should be seeing the grand fireplace in Kuja's personal bed chambers - not the metal decor of his dungeon cell. Zidane sits up; his first inclination is to look for Kuja or anyone else that may be familiar or of help. Again, no one is present. Sighing, he wonders what he did to deserve this.  
  
Upon five minutes of observation and analysis, Zidane still can't come up with anything decisive. Dressed only in his pants, its suggested he was either thrown in here in a hurry or that Kuja wasn't done with him. Zidane can't help but hope the second was true.  
  
An additional five minutes later, cold and hunger, especially, have been realized, taking the place of the headache on the importance scale. Soon after, the invisible panel suddenly slides open, directly in front of Zidane, where it had before. Kuja's slender form is walking down the hallway.  
  
Zidane quickly gets to his feet, using the wall he had been sitting against for support. Kuja enters the room.  
  
"I apologize, Zidane, for the delay; I had unfinished business to attend to."  
  
"S'okay, but why'd you dump me in here?" Zidane asks, puzzled still by the situation.  
  
"To prevent you from running freely."  
  
Zidane blinks, frowning. "I wasn't planning on going anywhere."  
  
"I couldn't be sure." Kuja is fully dressed in his white and purple armor, his hair brushed, and his make-up perfect. "You're a naughty boy," he says with the wisp of a smile, "and I didn't wish to chance what you might do when I haven't my eye on you."  
  
Zidane shoves his hands in his pockets and starts to rock back and forth on his shoeless heels. Grinning, he answers, "But you **like** me like that, huh?" These comments just can't be helped.  
  
Kuja replies with a knowing smile. "Indeed." He crosses the floor to Zidane. "And I'm not through with you just yet."  
  
The grin stays in place. "That's good to hear."  
  
"I wish you to answer my question first, however." The beauty's arms lift to drape over Zidane's shoulders, hands taking hold of the shorter boy's ponytail, petting it.  
  
"And what question is that?"  
  
"Why do you insist on offering your head to the guillotine when there is no cause or reason?"  
  
"...Oh, you mean why am I always screwing you up?" Zidane's arms slip around Kuja's waist.  
  
"Precisely."  
  
"Mmmm, 'cause you're threatening Gaia, my friends, and all that other stuff."  
  
"But why do you care, Zidane?"  
  
"...I dunno...just the right thing to do. It all seems worth defending, I guess."  
  
"I see..." Kuja trails off thoughtfully.  
  
"Anything else?" Zidane asks as he works his fingers down the back of Kuja's thong.  
  
A smile plays on Kuja's features as his thought process is not-so-disappointingly interrupted. "Would you ever consider abandoning your cause?"  
  
"Nope," Zidane replies cheerfully.  
  
"Even if I offered you..." Trailing off again, he considers his possessions. "A home here? With me?" He lowers his head down beside Zidane's to tickle his ear with a slick tongue.  
  
"Sorry, Kuja. You're one hell of a lover, and I appreciate that, but..." he shrugs, abandoning the unfinished explanation, smiling at Kuja's advance.  
  
"What if I offered myself to you?" the older man whispers. "A sacrifice to the Defender of Gaia." Kuja begins to kiss Zidane's earlobe, adding to the temptation.  
  
Zidane's eyes close, his smile widens. "Sorry..."  
  
Kuja's arms slowly embrace Zidane, pulling him close, hands sliding across Zidane's bare, muscular back. "What a pity..." he whispers into Zidane's ear. After playing with the ear, his tongue withdraws and his teeth close around Zidane's earlobe in a pinching bite.  
  
"Ah..." Zidane flinches in Kuja's arms, pleasure escalating.  
  
Another gasp. Kuja smiles as he sucks on the earlobe. The boy in his arms suddenly begins to grow weak. Zidane's own dagger is pulled free from its owner's back. A painful moan leaves the victim's mouth. "Kuja..." The limp body collapses to the ground, falling from the guilty's arms.  
  
Kuja looks down upon Zidane's corpse. He turns the blade over in his hands, ever careful to avoid blood on his fingers or clothing. The villain's painted smile meets the victim's empty eyes, eyes betraying the confusion to the killer.  
  
The Angel of Death turns away from his latest victim and leaves the cell by which he came, gently pushing silver hair over his shoulder. When his feet leave the floor of the room and begin to cross the hallway, the panel slowly, mechanically slides closed. Cries of Zidane's name echo from the other cells; his closest friends knew his fate long before he did.  
  
The floor of the cursed room slides open beneath the body, revealing a pit of licking flames; a thin, surface layer, simply hiding the real intentions of the anger beneath.  
  
As the platform slides back into place - the disposal of evidence complete - hot, thick, inhuman blood still clings to the cold, metal floor, staining the smeared surface and the hands of the killer; but never his conscience.  
  


"Peace is but a shadow of death, dear brother."  
  
  
The End


End file.
